I Thee Wed
by Fleur the First
Summary: Ron and Hermione get drunk. Drunken Ron and Hermione get married. Married Ron and Hermione get into a whole lot of trouble concerning their lives, their family and friends, and their feelings for each other.
1. Quite the Welcome

I Thee Wed 

Chapter 1:

Quite the Welcome

**Author's Note**: I cannot even tell you all how excited I am about this story. I think it has potential, and hope you feel the same way. However, you must be warned: this story contains adult themes and language, and isn't really meant for the kiddies. I'm rating it PG-13 for now, but if anybody feels it should be R, I'll change it. I don't think that's necessary, however, as I don't plan on making anything explicit. This chapter, at least, is perfectly fine at its current rating. 

Also, I'm a little fuzzy on what I'm going to do with the quidditch here, so bear with me as I figure that out.

**Disclaimer**: Trust me, I don't think this is how Rowling intends to have Ron and Hermione get together. I can only hope she doesn't haunt me for what I'm about to do. :-)

***

Drinking makes such fools of people, and people are such fools to begin with, that it's compounding a felony.

**-Robert Benchley **

***

Harry, Hermione, and Ginny all sat expectantly in the dark kitchen. They had tried walking around a bit, but Ginny had tripped over Hermione's foot and fallen into Harry, before promptly having a pot slip off the counter and fall on her foot. After that, they decided it would be safer if they were stationary. 

          "What's taking him so bloody long?" Ginny murmured. Hermione would have chided her language if she hadn't been thinking the same thing.

          "You know Ron," the brown-haired girl said. "Why should he be on time when he can be late?"

Harry remained silent. He'd heard Ginny and Hermione go off on men in general before, and found that they'd stop sooner if he didn't make his presence known.

Just then, a doorknob turned and a door at the end of the hall opened. A shadow was cast that those in the kitchen knew well. "Harry? Where are you, mate?" A pause. "Harry?"

For the last several months Ron had been touring all around the world with his quidditch team, the Cannons. After Hogwarts he worked at all kinds of jobs for them, content to be part of their team, though he had never considered actually trying for a position. Promotion after promotion finally led him to his current one: manager. His devotion to his job rivaled that of the Minister of Magic. For the last three years he had poured his strength and energy into making the team respectable, and finally succeeded. He was back in the United Kingdom now, a hero to Cannons fans everywhere. The next few games that his team played could very well be the most important of his career.

Footsteps could be heard walking closer and closer, and Ginny fought back a snicker. She didn't fight in thoroughly enough, though, because Ron's feet picked up a faster pace. 

          "Come out where I can see you!" his deep voice growled. "I'm armed and I'm not afraid of blasting you into smithereens." 

          "Ooh, I'm trembling," Ginny whispered under her breath.

          "He thinks we're intruders!" Hermione hissed. "What do we do?"

Luckily, the trio was saved the decision as Ron turned the lights on in the area where they were hiding. Fear forgotten, they all jumped up and yelled, "Surprise!" with great enthusiasm. Thankfully for them Ron didn't take the scare badly enough to create his promised smithereens.

The quidditch manager just stared at them all, wand slack in his hand and hair disheveled from a long day of traveling.

He raised an eyebrow at them. It wasn't everyday that three people who invited you over tried to surprise you with their presence. Suspicion arose in his tired body. "What are you three up to?" he asked.

Harry laughed loudly. "Nice to see you, too, Mr. Cannons." The two friends walked up to each other and hugged just long enough for the embrace to be considered manly.

Not that they cared, or anything.

Ginny looked over at Hermione and rolled her eyes. "Men," they said in unison.

Of course, Ginny ruined her solemn expression when she burst into giggles and ran towards her brother. "Ronny!" 

He picked her up and whirled her around, but when he put her down his smile turned to a frown. "Don't _ever_ call me that again."

          "Of course, Ronny," Ginny said. She then turned on her heels and ran into the living room. 

          "I'll get you for that!" Ron took off after his sister. It was hard to believe the two were 27 and 28 years in age.

Harry looked over at Hermione and grinned. "Show time," he commented, wiggling his eyebrows. Hermione laughed at his antics. They both walked into the living room after the pair of siblings, just in time to hear a loud noise erupt, signifying that Fred and George had gotten their cue. For when Ron had entered the door they'd lit up Harry's flat with multi-colored lights that had been hanging in the air for the past three hours. The lights began to fizzle, and finally, to explode repeatedly as their glow spread out over the room.

"They're new!" George was screaming. "They're called 'Ever-Lasting Light Bombs'!" 

Harry's flat continued to shine in the tinted glow. It was large for a flat, actually, as well as very un-bachelor-esque. Harry had had his friends help him decorate it, and their efforts had not been in vain. (Okay, Ginny and Hermione had done most of it, but Harry and Ron had carried what the girls told them to.) The walls were an inviting red, and the wooden floors had gorgeous rugs thrown over them that matched the gold of the throw pillows on the furniture. The couches were large and comfortable, though at the moment they could not be seen.

Instead, dozens and dozens of witches and wizards smiled back at one very surprised redhead. Ginny was high-fiving Fred, congratulating him on his idea to taunt Ron with his least favorite nickname.

A large sign was strung across the room. In big bold letters the words "Welcome home, Ron!" were written. 

Soon everybody was laughing, drinking, and having an all around good time. The entire Weasley family was there, as well as all the members of the Cannons. Many Hogwarts graduates were gathered as well, and though they all were used to it, a few faces that had once been familiar were missing. Still, the evening was filled with enthusiasm and fun.

All except for Hermione. 

Caught between depression and the urge to join in the celebrating, Hermione couldn't help but think back on the fact that Ron hadn't said hello to her. He hadn't said _anything _to her. _He didn't even _look_ at me_, she thought grimly. For weeks she'd been planning this party diligently, only to be ignored for her efforts. 

She downed a martini that had been sitting on the newly installed wooden bar. She was on her third when Harry came over and put a hand on her arm. "Ginny said you were getting yourself plastered over here," he said simply.

Hermione was too smart to disagree. She knew the name and capitol of every country ever to have existed; she knew when she was on her way to being drunk.

          "So?" 

Harry didn't look as if he'd been expecting her to realize what she was doing. "Well, er…don't you think you should come talk to some people instead? Neville's been dying to tell you about some new plant he discovered."

Hermione rubbed her temples. "I'm not in the mood, Harry."

          "I'm sure he didn't mean to ignore you, Hermione," Harry went on. They both knew he wasn't talking about Neville anymore.

That did it! If Harry had noticed that Ron was acting weird, she wasn't just imagining it.

She started on drink number four, bewildering Harry to no end.

***

Ron, on the other hand, did not realize that anything was amiss. Nope, he was simply happy to be back in England with his friends and family. 

His very nosy friends and family. 

          "So," began Mrs. Weasley, "Have you met any foreigners, Ron? Because, we wouldn't mind at all if you brought home a girl of a different nationality. I mean, Bill married Fleur and everything is going well for him! You could follow in his footsteps, just—" 

Bill, who had been listening for quite some time with a bemused Fleur on his arm, promptly took his mother aside. He told her that maybe Ron would like to be home a day before getting a wife lined up, with which she agreed heartily. ("Honestly, Bill, you make it sound like I was harping on about it!" she exclaimed.)

Even more disheartening, however, was Harry, who had come over halfway through the party and asked him why he was being so rotten to Hermione.

          "I am not!" Ron said.

Harry rolled his eyes. "You haven't even spoken to her. Last time I checked she was your best friend, too. You know, I had to cover for you at least a dozen times these past few months; every time she told me how it was so strange you never owled us."

          "Yeah, so?" Ron knew his question was a stupid one.

          "So?" Harry said incredulously. "I get at least an owl a week from you!"

          "Er…"

          "Listen, Ron, I don't know what's going on with you, but you'd better sort it out. She's on her fourth—Harry looked over at Hermione—make that _fifth_ drink."

Immediately Ron felt guilty. Hermione never got drunk, and the fact that she was becoming so over him managed to penetrate the layers of oblivion he wore around him like a cloak.

          "I'll talk to her after the party," Ron concluded. "I'll even take her home. I was going to spend the night here, but I could use her guest room and we'll sort things out."

          "Much better," Harry agreed. "Besides, now I don't have to worry about you using up all my hot water."

Ron snickered. "Still haven't magicked the plumbing yet? To think, the great Harry Potter living like a Muggle."

A loud commotion broke out and Harry saw that his desk had been transfigured into a peacock.

          "Or not," he told Ron wryly. 

***

It was well into the wee hours of the morning when the last guest left Harry's flat. The host looked somewhat eager to get the place cleared out, and Ron obligingly took Hermione down the elevator while Harry was busy vanishing random farm animals.

Or rather, Ron carried her down it, seeing as she couldn't even see straight, let alone walk. Sadly, he wasn't doing that much better. True, he'd only had a few drinks, but he was so tired he seemed to be getting drunker by the minute.

          "Never," he told her, "did I ever think to be taking care of a smashed Hermione Granger."

          "Codswallop," she mumbled into his chest. "You've dreamed about it." She giggled then. "What else have you dreamed of?"

          "You don't want to hear about my dreams," he said. "They're not smart and grown up like yours." Alcohol was making him blunt.

She giggled again, and it rang in Ron's ears. Hermione's little brownstone was only a block away, but he didn't think he'd be able to make it if she kept acting like this.

Eventually they made it to her front steps, neither of them capable of having an actual discussion on Ron's conduct of late. Instead, a more abbreviated form of it took place.

          "Ron," Hermione started, "do you hate me?"

          "No," he replied. "Not at all."

          "Good." She buried her face in his chest again sleepily. A second later she looked up at him. "I don't want to go in yet."

Ron shrugged from his place seated next to her on the concrete steps. "What do you want to do then?"

Hermione mimicked his shrug. "I dunno, what do you want to do."

They both laughed like the two drunks they were. They barely resembled the heroes that had helped Harry Potter defeat Lord Voldemort a scant ten years beforehand. 

          "Let's think of something," Ron whispered in her ear. His voice held great promise.


	2. Things Get Ugly

I Thee Wed 

Chapter 2:

Things Get Ugly****

**Author's Note:** The long-awaited chapter two is here, folks.

…

That's it. Oh, wait, except for one thing. Ron uses bad language in this chapter, please forgive him. And me. ^_~

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter.I was going to be rebellious and not put a disclaimer in this chapter, but then I realized that nobody would care nor think of it as a rebellious act, so I just put it in anyway. 

**Dedication: **To Redgem, my dear beta-reader and even dearer friend in honor of her birthday, which is tomorrow, July 31st (some people get all the luck.) Without her I would be lost in a sea of misused commas and past participles. 

Link to Redgem: 

Read her new Neville story, it's excellent!

***

The best way out is always through.

**-Robert Frost**

*******

The first thing that occurred to Ron the next morning was the fact that he was in a very comfortable bed. The second was that his head felt like it had been run over by a giant. The third was that he was glad to have somebody so warm and soft lying next to him.

Wait.

A what?

Instantly the redhead's eyes flew open. He took in soft blue walls, lacy white curtains, and a head of brown, wavy hair.

He closed his eyes again, praying to anybody who was listening that he was dreaming. He opened his eyes again, but his vision stayed the same. 

          _Don't jump to conclusions!_ he told himself. _There is probably a very good explanation for this…I just haven't found out what it is yet. _Gritting his teeth, Ron pulled up the comforter of the bed. Unfortunately, he was as bare as the day he was born, and even more unfortunately, he wasn't the only one. 

Suddenly the blue walls, lacey curtains, and brown head of hair struck him as very, very familiar. Ever-so-slowly (to be subtle and keep his head from ricocheting off his shoulders) Ron leaned over and peeked at the face of his companion. 

There was no doubt about it. The woman had Hermione's nose, Hermione's mouth, Hermione's ears. Her eyes were closed, but he was pretty sure they'd be Hermione's, too. Only one question remained: what in bloody hell had gone on last night?

He played with the ring on his finger to calm his nerves, twisting it madly around and around.

Wait.

One quick glance revealed a golden band. This time his groan was audible, as well as somewhat desperate. Quickly, Ron assessed his situation: he was in bed, naked, next to his best friend of seventeen years, wearing a wedding ring and in possession of a massive hangover.

          "Fuck," he muttered aloud.

With that, the figure next to him stirred. Hermione was rolling over, and fear gripped Ron's heart. In one bolt, he was on the floor. He head was pounding, but he was out of Hermione's direct line of sight, and that was all that mattered.

          "Who's there?" Hermione's panicked voice floated through the room. Ron instantly felt guilty. Of course Hermione would notice the fact that she was stark naked instantly, and probably fear the worst.

But then, how much worse could things be?

          "Er…" Ron moved so that only his head could be seen above the cast-iron bed frame.

"R-Ron?' Hermione's eyes were wide open now, looking vastly confused. "Tell me this isn't what it looks like."

          "What does it look like?" he asked, to stall if nothing else.

Hermione laughed, but it was somewhat hysterical. "Well, it _looks_ like we…er…that we…" She trailed off, too embarrassed to go on. "Are you…without clothes?"

Ron winced. "That depends on whether or not you want a lie or the truth."

          "The truth," Hermione said, sounding very much like she'd rather hear the lie.

          "Yeah."

          "How could we? And I don't even remember it! Things like this don't happen to girls like me!"

          "And they happen to guys like me?" Ron worked up enough energy to be annoyed.

          "Yes…I mean, no…I don't know! I haven't known anything about you ever since you started working for the Cannons!"

His annoyance abated as Ron sighed and leaned his head against the bed. "Well, that's not exactly our problem right now." He paused. "Close your eyes for a moment." 

Hermione did so, and when he told her to open them again he was wrapped in a white sheet. He came and sat down next to her, finding she looked very close to tears. A part of him wanted to save the rest of his news for later, but another part knew he probably shouldn't wait much longer.

          "Hermione?" he queried.

          "Yes?' She didn't look at him, but instead studied the door.

Ron felt his confidence slipping, so he plunged ahead. "Look at your finger."

For a moment she did nothing, just kept staring at the door. After a moment she looked down at her hands where she caught sight of a ring identical to Ron's.

She fainted.

***

An hour later both Ron and Hermione had managed to shower and get dressed, albeit somewhat awkwardly. Since Ron was more properly attired (he was in a sheet, yes, but at least he was in _something_) he got cleaned up first. Very shortly after getting into the shower he found that all of Hermione's bath stuffs were scented _Twilight Tulips_, and smelled of the flower they were named for. He considered evading the whole bathing idea, but in the end relented. One sniff of his bare skin had him wishing he hadn't.

Dressing was even harder, mostly because his clothes were strewn throughout the house.

At one point Ron commented, "Must have been pretty wild, eh?" but Hermione silenced him with a withering glare.

Ron would have laughed had he not found his boxer shorts in Crookshanks' water dish. (The man at the pet store where she bought the cat told Hermione he had a mother that lived to be thirty, much to Hermione's delight.)

Sitting at the kitchen counter and drinking coffee, neither friend spoke. Too many thoughts were running through their addled minds, none very pleasant.

Finally, Hermione spoke. "So…you don't remember anything?"

          "I remember walking you home. I remember sitting on your steps. After that, nothing."

Hermione nodded sadly. "I think I recall the part where we were on the steps, but that's about it. I hear this happens a lot to people who are…er…intoxicated. However, our memories may be jogged."

Ron held up his hand. "If _this_ didn't jog my memory, I don't know what in the bloody hell will!"

          "Language, Ron," his friend tutted, and for a moment, it was if they were thirteen again.

But they weren't. They were grown adults, both very successful and with lives of their own. No longer was every day passed between them, and more often than not they went great spans without seeing each other. It was the way the world worked.

          "Thank Merlin it's Saturday," Hermione mumbled into her coffee cup. She was a practitioner of Magical Medicine, and had her own clinic in London. "I don't think I could have possibly gone into work today." 

          "Why? You could have just taken the ring off and nobody would have known."

          "It's that I can't think straight, you git. It wouldn't have been very nice for my career if I had given somebody treatment for the flu when they had a broken arm!"

          "They would have gotten over it," Ron said.

Hermione sighed. "But speaking of taking the ring off, I think that would be a good idea. What if somebody comes calling and sees me wearing it?"

          "Somebody like, oh, I don't know…Dylan?" Ron's words were icy, as if he didn't like the taste of them in his mouth.

Instantly, Hermione's expression became pinched. "What concern is Dylan of yours?"

          "Harry says you've been dating him for four months! Why have you been hiding him from me? Are you ashamed of him?"

Hermione was up and out of her chair in a matter of milliseconds. "No! I didn't tell you because I knew you'd act like the baby you are now! You always do this, Ron. You've ruined perfectly good relationships of mine, just to be spiteful!"

          "Why would I be spiteful?" Ron roared, his face as red as his hair.

          "I don't know, why don't you tell me?"

They both stared at each other with contempt for a moment, and finally Hermione went to take the ring off her finger and throw it in his face.

However, it was stuck.

Really, really stuck.

Hermione had yanked and maneuvered for nearly a minute before she realized what the problem was.

          "No, this can't be happening…please, no…" She trailed off, still tugging at the ring. Ron, still too angry to speak, just sat with his arms folded.

          "Ron, do you know what these are?!"

          "What?" Hermione looked to be on the verge of tears again, and Ron felt torn between holding her and strangling her.

          "They're _Forever Yours_." 

Ron looked startled. "They're yours too!"

          "No, no, no. It's a brand. They make rings that you're guaranteed never to lose or misplace…or take off."

          "Bugger."

          "Ron!"

Just then a knock could be heard on Hermione's door. "What if that's Dylan?" 

Ron's expression soured again at the mention of Hermione's boyfriend. "Aren't you going to introduce us?"

          "No, I most certainly am not! How will I explain why you only have one sock on?" True to her words, Ron hadn't been able to find both of his socks and had opted to wear just one.

          "Tell him the truth," Ron countered. "Tell him you got married and slept with another man."

Hermione slapped him and ran to her bedroom, her tears finally released. Ron rubbed the place on his cheek where she'd hit him, amazed that she could have done such a thing. Amazed that he could have _said_ such a thing.

          "Ron? Hermione?" Now the knocking was accompanied by Harry's voice. In a trance, Ron went to let him in. 


	3. In Which There is Choking

I Thee Wed

Chapter Three:

In Which There is Choking****

**Author's Note**: So…oops? I know this was long in coming, guys, and I'm sorry. I won't give you excuses, though, but will let you get on to the story. Also, I'm on a bit of "West Wing" kick right now, so I think my dialogues have been unduly affected by it. It's the best show in the world, by the way. Josh and Donna are the Ron and Hermione of the White House. 

**Disclaimer**: I don't own any of the characters here except for the ones you've never heard of before. They're mine. Buah. Don't feel bad, though, you probably won't want them.

***

Speak when you are angry—and you will make the best speech you'll ever regret.

**Laurence J. Peter**

***

Ron let the door swing open on its own accord, not bothering to hold it open for Harry once he'd turned the knob. Without even looking at his friend he walked back to the kitchen and started to rummage through Hermione's cabinets.

          "Ron?" Harry's voice betrayed him. He knew something was wrong, and he wanted to know what.

The redhead turned around to face the questions he knew awaited him. He didn't bother trying to keep secrets from Harry anymore; the endeavor was a pointless one. Hermione had once said that Ron had a personality that resembled a difficult textbook: Anybody could read it, some could understand it, but only few had ever been capable of memorizing it.

Harry was one of those few.

          "Harry, why did you let me take Hermione home last night?" Ron finally asked.

Harry looked as if he had not been expecting to be questioned. A moment passed and his confusion turned into annoyance. "I didn't _let_ you leave, you left while I was busy de-animalizing my apartment."

          "Is that a word?"

          "That's not the point. But no."

Ron nodded thoughtfully. The two men stared at each other for a while, neither wanting to pursue the conversation that awaited them.

          "So," Harry said, taking a seat on a nearby stool. "Did something happen between the two of you?"

Ron choked on the tea he'd just poured for himself. "That's an understatement," he managed to gasp out.

          "So, you…" Harry trailed off and looked towards Hermione's bedroom door, trying not to look like he wanted to gag. Over and over and over and over…

          "All evidence points to yes," Ron said slowly.

Harry raised an eyebrow at that. "You don't know?"

          "Well, we were pretty out there," Ron conceded, coupling the statement with a flamboyant hand gesture.

Harry ignored the gesture and moved on. "You think it was a mistake?" 

          "Why wouldn't it be?" Ron gasped. "Do you know something I don't know? Did somebody tell you I wouldn't think something like this would be a mistake if it happened? Harry?"

Plucking at the collar of his robes, Harry muttered something unintelligible. 

          "What was that?" 

Harry sighed. "Let's face it Ron, you two have had _something_ between you ever since school. How could you blame me for not being surprised?"

          "We don't have _something_," Ron argued. "We're friends. At least, we were friends. Now we're bloody man and wife."

Green eyes grew to twice their normal size. "You're—you're what?"

Ron's temper was extinguished instantly. "Did I forget to mention that?" he said weakly.

          "I'd say so!" 

          "Right then," Ron amended. "Hermione and I got married."

Harry looked as if somebody had just told him his Firebolt was actually a Shooting Star in disguise. "Are you sure? I mean, you didn't remember…er…the other thing, so how'd you remember this?"

          "We don't. But it's pretty hard to ignore the ring that's stuck to my bloody finger!" He held his hand up for inspection.

          "Wow." Harry let his eyes trail to Hermione's door again. "How's she taking all of this?"

Now it was Ron's turn to mumble something unintelligible. 

          "She swapped you?" Harry asked. "For who?" Never before had a conversation with Ron been so confusing, and there had been some doozies. 

          "She slapped me!" Ron hissed, feeling his cheeks gather heat. "I made a comment about Dylan and she got a bit shirty." Ron forgot to add that she probably had every right to be. 

          "I almost forgot about that bloke," Harry admitted. Ron felt a bit better after hearing Harry's tone. At least Dylan wasn't taking over all of his friendships. "Has she told him yet?"

          "No, and I'm not going to." Hermione's entrance to the room had gone undetected, so her outburst was enough to make both men jump. Ron choked on his tea again. 

Harry looked at her with something akin to disbelief. "So what _are_ you going to tell him?"

          "Nothing. I'll put a charm on my hand that will make the ring invisible to the human eye." Logic it seemed, had finally managed to take a hold on Hermione.

          "Can't you just take it off?" Harry asked. Ron shook his head from left to right wildly, indicating that this subject was not a good one. "So you're just going to pretend none of this ever happened?"

          "Of course not," Hermione huffed, coming farther into the kitchen. Ron noted with not a little bit of guilt that her eyes were red and puffy. He knew he should apologize, but couldn't find the words. Maybe there were no words for any of this. Well, maybe "insane" would do it. Suddenly, Ron realized Hermione had said something else.

          "What?" 

          "I said we're going to get divorced. I'll go to my lawyer tomorrow and get all of this worked out. Nobody outside of this room will ever have to know about what's happened. And say 'pardon' Ron, not 'what'."

          "The press would have a field day," Harry interrupted as Ron began to sputter. Neither of his friends noticed the way he cringed as he spoke. 

Ron was staring at the ceiling when Hermione turned to him for confirmation of her plan. She wasn't very happy with him at the moment, but he was just as big a part of the problem as she was, and had to be included. Gone were the days when a week of the silent treatment could evoke an end to a dispute...not that she wasn't tempted. "Ron?"

          "It doesn't work that way in the wizarding world," Ron finally said. "The only person who can end a marriage is the person that started it."

          "You must be joking," Hermione deadpanned. 

          "Nope. I had a great aunt and uncle that were stuck together for seventy-five years because the guy who married them died three days before they decided to separate. They couldn't get a divorce, so they just kind of put up with each other. I think by year thirty they may have even begun to like each other again."

A groan emitted from Hermione and she buried her head in her hands. "I can't be married! Especially not to _you!_" she wailed. Ron didn't know whether to be concerned because she was breaking down again, or upset at the rather large slight she'd just directed at him. 

"Well you don't have to be rude about it," he finally grumbled, more to himself than his hysterical wife. 

_Wife. Wife. Wife. Wife. Wife._

The word continued to echo in Ron's head as the seconds ticked by.

          "What kind of twisted individual would make such a law? Didn't they have any common-sense?" cried still-hysterical Hermione.

          "They must never have been married," muttered Ron.

It occurred to Harry that Ron and Hermione, though hating their current situation, appeared very much like an old married couple. Of course, they had always seemed like an old married couple…even _before_ puberty hit. Not to mention before they actually got married.

          "I'm going back to bed," Ron said unexpectedly.

Hermione fixed him with a cold glare. "And how is that going to help us in this time of crisis?"

Rolling his eyes, Ron took off towards Hermione's bedroom. "Perhaps I'll wake up and all of this will have been a nightmare." Moments later the bedroom door shut.

          "He could have at least gone into the spare room!" huffed Hermione. "He's so inconsiderate!"

          "Is Ron living here now?" Harry asked, perplexed.

Hermione shook her head. "Of course not. He's going to live in his apartment, and I'm going to live in mine. And until we learn how to fix this, we'll pretend it never happened."

          "But Hermione, Ron doesn't have an apartment…I was going to ask you to let him stay here for awhile when I came over this morning."

          "Why can't he stay at the Burrow?" Hermione asked in desperation.

Harry's expression changed from that of pleading to one of amusement. "Apparently the spells holding up some of the wings started to give. Arthur's just started the repairs." At some point in the last decade Harry had begun to use the Weasley's given names, though nobody could mark when. 

          "Er…perhaps I should go have a look at those spells at some point, too."

          "It couldn't hurt," Harry said, but his voice wasn't unkind. 

It stunned Harry when he turned to find Hermione giving him a shrewd look. The black-haired man began to check out his shirt for stains, and returned Hermione a look of his own when he found none. "Do I have something in my teeth?" 

          "No, it's just…Harry, why can't Ron room with you? It's what you've always done before."

Harry began to pull at his collar again. "Er…I don't have room."

          "You have plenty of room!" Hermione told him. "Wasn't that the point of moving into a bigger apartment?"

          "No I don't." Harry's voice lacked the conviction he would have needed to pull off such a blatant lie. 

          "Your apartment has three bedrooms. Unless you have some illegitimate children mulling around…"

          "Of course not!"

          "Relax Harry, I was only joking." She looked down at the ring on her finger. "Not that I should be, mind."

          "Hermione, I just…Ron can't stay with me right now." 

Hermione's face gathered concern. "Are you two in a fight? What happened? Is it serious?"

          "We're not married, if that's what you're getting at," Harry mumbled under his breath.

          "HARRY!"

The two friends sat for a moment in silence, neither knowing exactly where there conversation was heading. "We're not in a fight," Harry finally said.

          "That's good," Hermione replied.

          "It's just that I've got some stuff going on and I don't want it to turn into a big deal," he embellished.

Hermione rolled her eyes in exactly the same manner Ron had only a little while ago. Luckily, this went unnoticed. "Harry, you can tell us if something's wrong, we've all learned that it's better to talk things out rather than try to fix them single-handedly. I thought you knew that," she chided.

          "Hermione, it's not anything dangerous, I promise!" 

Sighing, Hermione put a hand over his. "I suppose I'll have to trust you. But Harry, if something ever _becomes_ dangerous—even if it's just the tiniest bit—you'd tell me, right?"

Harry smiled. "Yeah. What other witch can I whine to without feeling guilty?"

          _A whole lot of people_, Hermione mused, but she didn't voice the thought aloud.

***

Inside Hermione's bedroom, Ron wasn't sleeping. Instead he was pacing back and forth, and he had a growing suspicion that the wood was going to start sagging because of it. 

When he got tired of pacing, Ron plopped onto the bed. That was the technical term, too: plopped. The movement caused Crookshanks, who had been asleep on the bed, to meow in annoyance. "Sorry," Ron mumbled to the cat, which continued to stare at him like he was the biggest idiot in the world.

          "You really are Hermione's cat," Ron noted. 

The cat seemed to say, "Why are you talking to me? I'm a cat. Besides, you're not worthy of my time."

But that was just an interpretation. 

          "Great, even the _cat_ thinks I'm being a prat," Ron mumbled into one of the pillows. Suddenly he felt very sleepy, and he turned onto his back, trying to get more comfortable. Crookshanks, who seemed to have forgiven Ron for his earlier grievances, climbed onto the man's chest. Ron considered pushing the feline off, but in the end, relented. "Not a word of this to the witch," Ron whispered, indicating towards the kitchen.

Crookshanks seemed to say, "Of course not. It's not like I want to be seen cuddled up with _you_, either."

***

          "Well, Harry, thanks for stopping by. I suppose Ron and I will make due here," Hermione said.

          "I really wish you two wouldn't be angry at each other. He hasn't been home twenty-four hours, and I was hoping…"

          "Yes," prompted Hermione.

          "Well, I just got the impression Ron didn't want to fight anymore."

          "Really? I got the impression he was ignoring me last night!"

          "But didn't marrying you more than make up for it?" Harry asked, smothering a grin as he did so.

Immediately a hand swatted his arm. "No it did not! A simple 'I'm sorry' would have been much more appropriate."

Harry released his grin. "Well, Ron doesn't do much half-heartedly."

          "Except for Divinations," added Hermione.

Harry looked a bit offended at this. "Hey! We worked very hard in that class! I'd say we gave a hundred percent and more!"

Though Hermione had begun to wash her cup in the sink, Harry was sure he heard her say, "In bullshit."

But Hermione didn't say words like that, so Harry let it go. 

A knock on the door interrupted them both, and Hermione barely managed to hold back a groan. With her luck it would be her mother, a person who would be more than a little upset to find a ring on her daughter's finger. 

Wait. Strike that. Mrs. Granger had been waiting for Hermione to "settle down with a nice wizard" for quite some time. The woman wanted grandchildren and to get them, she would need a son-in-law. Hermione was beginning to think she'd accept just about anybody, which meant Ron would definitely have to be kept a secret from her.

Hermione performed the necessary spell to hide her ring, and then walked over to the door. She looked through the peephole and promptly became as pale as Nearly Headless Nick. 

          "Who is it?" Harry asked. 

          "Oh dear. Oh dear, oh dear, oh dear," was all Hermione would say.

A masculine voice began to omit from outside. It wasn't Gretchen Granger. 

          "'Mione? Are you in there, love?" 

It was Dylan. And there was a man napping in her bed. And she was _married_ to said man sleeping in her bed. 

"'_Mione_?" Harry spat out, sounding as if he were choking on the word. "He calls you 'Mione?"

"Shut up, Harry! I need you to go get Ron out of here. Hurry!"

"We can't Apparate in here, you put the ward up yourself!" It was true. Long ago Hermione, Ron, and Harry had made sure their dwellings were as secure as Hogwarts. Though there weren't many renegade Death Eaters left in the world, there were fanatics who would forever hate the trio for simply being alive. Death threats were common, and slander in the papers or on the radio wasn't exactly rare.

Harry was more than sure that Severus Snape had sent in at least one article deprecating The-Boy-Who-Still-Lived-And-Simply-Refused-To-Die. However, there was no proof, and the potions master continued to deny his guilt to this day.

          "Okay," Hermione was saying quietly, bringing Harry back to the present, "Just don't mention Ron, and if you hear him stirring, go gag him!"

          "Gag him?  Isn't that a bit extreme?" asked Harry.

Hermione didn't seem to think so. After a brief primp period in which she rolled her wand down her robes to iron out any wrinkles, Dylan was allowed entry.

          "There's my favorite girl," he boomed. 

Hermione winced. All she needed now was for Ron to come out and spoil the longest relationship she'd ever had with a man who wasn't her best friend, father, or professor. After all, the platonic can only get a girl so far.

          "Dylan, how nice to see you," she responded, placing a kiss on his cheek. Harry gave a little wave as form of greeting.

          "Nice to see you, old boy!" Dylan said to Harry, placing a rather large pat on his back. Unfortunately, Harry had just taken a sip of his tea and began to choke much like Ron had done earlier. Hermione immediately rushed over, and upon reaching him whispered, "No so loud!" 

Sympathy was short in coming in the Granger house, it seemed.

Even though his life was flashing before his eyes, Harry still managed to find the power to be annoyed. A wave of Hermione's wand and he was able to breathe again, but the damage was done.

          "I think I'm going to leave now, Hermione."

          "Er…wouldn't you like to get your…er…scarf out of my bedroom before you leave? You left it here months ago and you should really take it home."

          "My what?" 

          "Your _scarf_, Harry, honestly!" 

Catching on, Harry walked into the bedroom, making sure to open the door just enough to get in and keep Ron—alias: The Scarf—undetected. 

The sight that greeted him was a bit of a surprise: Ron was sound asleep; Crookshanks curled up on his chest. Both creatures were snoozing comfortably and with no signs of having been disturbed. Harry thought longingly on all the cameras he had seen in his life and had neglected to carry around in preparation for this exact moment.

          "You really get around, don't you, mate?" Harry murmured to The Scarf.

When he emerged, Dylan looked at Harry curiously. "Couldn't find your scarf?" 

          "Er…no. I think I might have taken it last time I was here." To Hermione, Harry said, "Crookshanks is sleeping soundly, but maybe it'd be best if you went out for a bit and let him sleep."

Dylan raised his eyebrows. "Isn't Crookshanks your cat, 'Mione?"

          "Yes," Hermione told him smoothly. "But he's been a bit off lately and I would love it if he could just sleep it off."

Within the next five minutes all occupants were out of Hermione's house, leaving Ron and Crookshanks alone to spend some quality time together. 

___________________________________________________________________

*The part where Hermione tells Ron to say pardon instead of what I blatantly stole from _Bridget Jones' Diary_. Thank you, Helen Fielding. Awesome book, by the way.

*The choking started off unintentional but became too much fun to end. Sorry. 


	4. The Ball Begins to Roll

**I Thee Wed**

**Chapter 4:**

**The Ball Begins to Roll**

**Author's Note:** All I ask is that you don't kill me for taking so long with this. Please? If you decide not to kill me because of that, I will take hope that none of you will mind any mindless errors in here. My editor is hard to reach sometimes, and I can't keep this sitting here any longer. 

**Disclaimer:** Still not mine. If you hear differently, definitely send me an email.

***

The shifts of Fortune test the reliability of friends.

**-Cicero**

*******

When Ron woke up later he was neither ignorant of his surroundings nor his plight. He remembered it all with the clarity of an elephant. After all, it's been said that elephants have extremely good memories.

For a few minutes Ron only stared up at the ceiling, listening to Crookshank's shallow breathing. When that got boring he dumped the cat off his body and walked into the kitchen. Upon entering he was extremely surprised to find no Harry, Hermione, and no note from either of the former. A quick raid of Hermione's fridge offered did not offer clues, but in all honesty, it hadn't been clues he was searching for. 

Sadly, Hermione's fridge did not contain anything that could be considered appetizing. There was yogurt, lettuce, milk, and some leftovers that looked suspiciously like corn beef.  Giving up, he moved on to rummaging through his friend's—his wife's actually, but who's noticing?—desk and found a quill, some parchment, and a picture of Hermione that had been taken when she'd been ill with the Gangling Garble. Ron had been "taking care" of her and had happened to pick up her Muggle camera, with which he had proceeded to take picture after picture of anything that was nearby. 

Placing the picture back in its drawer, Ron settled down to begin his letter.

          _Dear Bill,     _

_Hi! I hope everything is going well in France. I'm sure you and Fleur are getting lots of work done between you. I'm just not sure what kind. Perhaps I should warn Gringotts about you. Anyway, Bill, I'm in a bit of a situation. Do you know of a spell that can help you remember stuff from when you're a bit drunk? If you do, could you please send it to me A.S.A.P? If you come through I'll get you all the autographed quidditch equipment you could ever hope for._

_          Love,_

_          Ron_

_          P.S. Please don't tell Mum about any of this, that's the last thing I need._

When Ron had finished his letter of eloquence, or something to that effect, he rolled it up and stuffed it in the pocket of his robes. Ron's owl, Mars, was at the Burrow; he had sent the bird there before coming back to England, thinking it would make things easier on the trip home. Now he was without a way to send his letter, a problem he could only fix by making a stop in Diagon Alley.

***

Ron's trip to the Leaky Cauldron was incredibly uneventful. Thanks to the glamour he had cast on his features not a soul recognized him for the celebrity that he was, giving him enough privacy to wallow in his depressing thoughts. Usually Ron loved the attention paid to him by adoring fans, but as he got older he realized more and more why Harry had always been dodging Colin.

Actually, he had always realized why Harry would dodge _Colin_, just not everybody else.  

After stopping to deliver his letter in _Musty Mail Express_, Ron worked his way to his favorite restaurant. _Moonshine_ was a place that he, Harry and Hermione had discovered three years after they had left Hogwarts. In those years Hermione had studied furiously to become a Healer, Ron had thrown himself into quidditch, and Harry had wandered the world aimlessly. On one of their short reunions the trio had stumbled upon the tiny restaurant, a place that served wonderful food, was full of friendly service and always had a quidditch game on the wireless. They had immediately designated it "their place", and Ron was eager to stop in, even if he was on his own.

When he was standing across the street from the establishment Ron looked up to view the large, deep-blue sign that had first attracted he and his friends. Silver stars were dotted across it, many of which were whizzing to and fro. A crescent moon hung in the corner, shimmering in the sunlight or glowing warmly in the moonlight. Though he'd never say so out loud, Ron thought it was beautiful.

Eventually the redhead moved to enter, and as soon as he did so the smells of a first-class kitchen assaulted his nostrils. His stomach began grumbling in earnest, protesting the fact that it had not been adequately filled earlier. When Ron caught sight of a middle-aged man serving drinks at the bar he cast off the glamour that had kept him from being recognized, then made his way towards him.

          "Frank!" 

The man named Frank squinted and shook his head from side to side. "Am I supposed to recognize you?" he asked with a distinct Scottish brogue. 

          "Put on your glasses, old man!" Ron responded, failing to hold back a grin. "Folk your age need all the help they can get."

          "See if I serve you today," Frank retorted loudly. Both broke into laughter only seconds later, sending many odd looks their way. "So, where have you been off to as of late?" 

          "You know perfectly well where I was," Ron replied.

Frank continued to play dumb. "I heard something about you managing some sport or another. Can't be very good, though, being as I've never heard of you."

          "Shut your trap and get me a drink, Frank, I'm tired of listening to your yammering." 

          "I suppose you'll be wanting the special as well?" Frank asked. Ron's stomach grumbled again, ensuring an end to his mock fight as well as answering the barkeeper's question. "I guess I'll be putting the order in then."

          "Thank you, Frank." 

          "Just glad you're back is all! But tell me, why isn't your lady-friend sitting with _you_?"

Astounded, Ron got off his chair. "Hermione's here?" 

Frank nodded in surprise. "Didn't you see her? She's over in one of the back booths with some fellow."

And that's when Ron saw Dylan for the very first time.

***

          "And then I told Professor Laurette that she was completely misreading the data. Shakespeare's home held an astounding…"

Hermione sunk into passive listening as her thoughts drifted to Ron. She felt bad for having abandoned him back at her place, something she would not have done if she hadn't been so angry with him. If she'd been in a better state of mind she would have told Dylan she was going out, effectively sending him away. Now she was stuck in a booth in her favorite restaurant, unable to enjoy neither the atmosphere nor the food. And to be perfectly honest, she felt guilty about taking Dylan to _Moonshine_. It hadn't seemed like a bad idea when she had originally brought him here, but now she was realizing that half of the charm of the restaurant came from the fact that she usually came here with Ron and Harry—not dates. Especially not dates she had cheated on less than twenty-four hours ago. 

          "But the physics behind such a thing would be nearly impossible, not a modicum of success should be expected. Don't you think so, 'Mione? Hermione?"

          "Pardon?" Snapping herself back into reality, Hermione looked up at Dylan embarrassedly. He stared back at her with annoyance, knowing full well that she hadn't been listening.

          "Hermione, this could be the biggest discovery to hit the magical world in centuries! Don't you even care?"

          "Of course I care!" said Hermione, not at all sure what she cared about.

Dylan's annoyance ebbed and the blond nodded kindly. "I'm sorry, 'Mione. You know how I can be sometimes." 

          "_'Mione_?" Ron's astounded voice echoed.

***

          "Ron!" It didn't escape Hermione that her voice had become very shrill. 

          "In the flesh."

Dylan was looking from one friend to another in complete confusion, unable to decide which was more surprising: Ron being here, or the fact that Hermione's voice had just become very shrill. 

          "What are you doing here?" Hermione asked.

          "Eating. What else would I be doing here?"

          "Who are you with?" 

Ron felt like he was on trial for living. "Me, myself and I."

          "Stop being silly."

          "Stop being a pain in the arse!"

Luckily, Dylan chose that exact moment to jump in with one of his booming 'Hello's', so nobody heard Ron's demand.

          "Er…yeah," the redhead said in way of greeting. 

Rolling her eyes, Hermione took over introductions. "Ron, this is Dylan. Dylan, this is Ron."

          "I think we got that much, Hermione," Ron said coldly.

Hermione was beginning to feel less and less guilty as time went by. An awkwad silence passed before Hermione got up grabbed Ron's arm and marched him to the other end of the room.

          "Stop being so rude!" she scolded when they were out of Dylan's earshot. 

          "Why did you bring him here? This isn't someplace where you should bring people like him!"

Too angry to admit she realized this, Hermione shot back, "What, I can only come here with you?"

          "Yes!" Ron shouted in response. The answer surprised both parties.

A pregnant pause passed between them. In a calmer voice Hermione said, "You know, if you're bothered by me bringing Dylan here, you can just say so. I'll respect your opinion as long as you convey it to me like the adult that you are."

          "You sound like my mother," Ron grumbled.

          "Your mother is very wise," Hermione replied. She worked up the will to smile. "Why don't you come eat with us? We're still friends. We'll just not talk about anything that happened at the party. Besides, you should get to know Dylan."

For some reason the prospect of 'getting to know' Dylan was not an exciting one. "Does he like to talk about quidditch?"

          "He doesn't like sports," Hermione admitted.

          "Do you like _him_?" Ron glanced over at Hermione's new beau, who appeared to be inspecting the workmanship of his silverware. 

          "He has many of the same interests that I do. He's very respected in his career. We're probably a very good match."

"What does he do?" Ron asked, not because he was interested but because he wanted to delay returning to the table.

"He studies architecture and how magic has effected the different types of it over the years."

          "Didn't Binns try to tell us about that stuff?"

"Every year, Ron. We even did an essay on it. I still have mine if you want to look at it when we go home."

          "Er…that's okay, Hermione." A few seconds passed. "What do you mean when 'we' go home?"

Hermione winced. "Talk to Harry about it. Now, do you want to eat with us or not?"

Ron nodded, but when he walked over to the table he felt as if he was walking to the guillotine. When all were settled, Dylan gave Ron the once over. "So," he began.

          "So."

          "Hermione tells me you're the captain of a quidditch team."

Ron tried very hard not to gouge Dylan's eyes out with one of the restaurant's spoons. "No, I don't actually play, though I did when I was in school. I'm the manager of the Chudley Cannons."

          "They used to be extremely terrible, correct?" 

Hermione quickly put a hand on Dylan's shoulder. "They're not anymore, though. Ron's really helped to turn the team around. He hired a new coach and commissioned Oliver Wood as the team captain! They've won every game this season, usually by a landslide!"

Both Dylan and Ron looked at the brown-haired witch quizzically. Dylan regained speech first. "You follow quidditch? I thought, well, I didn't think you liked that sort of thing."

          "What sort of thing?" Ron spat.

Hermione, meanwhile, was at a loss for what was so wrong with what she'd said. "Of course I follow Ron's team, he's like a brother to me!"

          "A brother?" Dylan asked suspiciously.

          "A brother," Hermione reinforced. 

For some reason this statement bothered Ron, and he was pretty sure it was because of the events that had taken place last night. "Gross," he said without thinking.

          "What is?" Dylan asked.

For a moment, Ron seriously debated the answer 'your face'." He was saved the trouble of finding something more suitable when a waitress came bearing their lunches.

***

When they were finished and walking back down Diagon Alley, Dylan announced abruptly that he had to be leaving. "Clodaugh's coming over to pick up some of my old school books that she'll be needing this year," he said gruffly. "Besides, people are beginning to notice you two celebrities." He did not sound happy about the situation.

          "Oh dear, we forgot to recast the spells! I suppose it's too late now," Hermione conceded, worried by Dylan's tone. She reached up to give him a kiss on the cheek none the less. 

This did not seem to make Dylan feel any better, but he managed to remain courteous and even turned to say goodbye to Ron. "Nice meeting you," he began. "Any friend of Hermione's is a friend of mine." Ron couldn't help but notice that Dylan seemed less than sincere. The two shook hands, though, which helped to soothe Hermione's nerves.

At least it would have, if Ron's other hand hadn't glinted in the sunlight, due to the gold ring that was upon it.

___________________________________________________________________

I'm so sorry to make everybody wait so long for so little. This chapter was a bit tough because I began it so long ago, though. I hope the next update will be timelier!

A special thanks to:

Zoe Potter, mine veela, divagoddess1, Azyne, Alchemist, Fanciful Sovereign, AngelicFairy, my dog ate my penname, Isadora, just a random reviewer, Lacasta Jungling, BlackMage3, kimberly vines, yvonne, Essie Aster…

Powerpetal- Thanks, "out there" is a term I definitely think describes this!

Redgem- Wonderful job editing so far…that is, if you had actually done so! But I love you anyway

Druhill513- You find a cast I'll supply the script!

kevin luver- Hmm, I don't know when there will be any more action, you'll just have to bear with me on that. ^_~

piano-rock- Yeah, but if you don't torture Harry it's not a HP fanfic! ^_~

feather- I promise you, Ron is NOT having a thing with Ginny. Hopefully you didn't mean that the way it came out.

LadyArwen14- Thanks for your loyalty in reviews. I may not be timely, but you sure are! Oh, and sorry about "shire", do you forgive me?

Starstrucked- I know, Gretchen just seemed like **THE** name, hehe.

lolo1- You are too sweet! Your reviews put a smile on mine!

tabasco*redhead- Don't redheads rock? Hehe, thanks for the review!

Mysticalolo- I didn't actually think of _Friends_ when I conceived the idea, but now that you mention it, maybe it was a subconscious thing. Interesting.

Lawwwren- Is it just me or does being put on a person's Favorites list make a writer feel like they've won an Emmy? 

YourALoserSoAmI- I have a book that I get a ton of them from, but www.quotaionspage.com is also a huge help. 

MysticVigil- You flatter me more than I deserve! Thanks for being such a great a kind reader.

Megaroni- Do you realize this is the first season where Rob Lowe will be gone entirely? I think I might cry now.


	5. Digging a Deeper Hole

I Thee Wed 

Chapter 5:

Digging a Deeper Hole

**Author's Note:** Yes, I realize you all have waited so long you barely remember this story, but I thought I'd try my luck and update anyway. May your Turkey Day be merry and bright. 

**Disclaimer:** I don't own many of the characters in this story. I have created some of them, though, but I doubt anybody out there really wants them. If they want to host this story on their own web page they are free to do so as long as they tell me where it's going. Now, on to the story!

***

Oh, life is a glorious cycle of song,  
A medley of extemporanea;   
And love is a thing that can never go wrong;   
And I am Marie of Roumania.

**-Dorothy Parker, Not So Deep as a Well , "Comment"**

***********

Dylan was staring at Ron as if the latter had six fingers on his hand. The irony rested in the fact that he was only focusing on one of them. Particularly the one with a gleaming gold ring on it, but perhaps that should have been expected. 

Noting the trouble that was brewing, Hermione ushered her companions into a small bookshop that they'd been standing by. Because she was friendly with the owner, and not to mention the fact that she was obscenely famous and influential, they were all escorted into the tiny garden behind the shop at her request. Dylan did not protest the change of scenery, nor did he look like he was going to show disinterest in the subject at hand when he recovered from his state of shock. Hermione damned all men for making her life so troublesome. 

          "Couldn't we have saved this for another time," Ron whispered to Hermione once they were situated. "Now you've caused a scene!"

Hermione shot him a look of warning. "You'd just better hope nobody else in the street saw that thing, you git! You should be thanking me for actually using _my_ brain. Or don't you have one?"

          "Ouch, Hermione. Just ouch."

It was only after all of this that Dylan recovered from the metaphorical stunning spell that had hit him hard and fast. Usually he didn't care much that people were married (he thought them a bit crazy, actually), but for a while that day he had been a bit…concerned over Ron's relationship with his girlfriend. He hadn't been jealous, of course, just concerned. 

Another intriguing concept that plagued Dlyan was that the media had never covered Ron's wedding, which was something that seemed just a tiny bit fishy. Dylan was willing to ignore this, though, as long as it meant Ron wasn't single. Not that he cared if Ron was single, just concerned. "Hermione didn't tell me you were married!" Surprise and a bit of glee were in the man's voice when he finally spoke.

          "Er…she didn't?" Ron said. He had never been that great at improvising.

Hermione, who felt as if she had been holding her breath since Dylan's eyes had caught Ron's ring, came rushing to the rescue. "Of course I did, you've just forgotten. Now, don't you have to be going?" 

Dylan ignored Hermione's urgings for him to leave, looking more than a little confused. "Are you sure? I don't remember it in the least."

Hermione nodded avidly. "Perhaps you simply weren't listening to me! I do hate it when you only pretend to hear what I'm saying." 

Just as Hermione had known it would, Dylan's face took on a look of recognition. "Oh! Now that you mention it I _do_ remember! Of course I listen to you, 'Mione. What was the lucky girl's name again?" 

Just as Hermione hadn't hoped, Dylan wanted to continue asking questions. Ron, still incredibly impressed by Hermione's display of manipulation, just stared at his friend questioningly. "Um…"

          "You don't know?" Dylan asked in an obnoxious tone that only Ron seemed to notice. 

Hermione made to interrupt and usher Dylan on his way, but was instead shocked when Ron's replied. "Her name is Marla," he said. 

Hermione raised an eyebrow from behind Dylan's back. "Marla?" she mouthed incredulously. In the back of her mind she wondered if this Marla character was an old beau she'd never been told about.

          "Marla March-Weasley," Ron continued, spurred on by Hermione's lack of enthusiasm over his choice of a wife. What right did she have to dictate who he married? The nerve! 

The fact that Marla didn't exist did not diminish his annoyance. 

"Well then, I have to go down to the pitch. I'll see you later, _Her_mione."

_Her_mione scowled at him. "Give Marla my best," she retorted. 

          "As always," was all Ron said before he disappeared with a _crack_.

***

When Ron arrived at the pitch he was not in a good mood. He ended up Apparating into a supply closet, a dark one at that, and it was a good twenty minutes before he was able to actually stumble out into the stadium. From there he stalked onwards to the locker room, but almost tripped over his own feet outside the door. "The damn floor is on a slope!" Ron half-mumbled, half-growled as he regained his footing.

          "Ron!" Oliver called from a nearby bench as soon as the perturbed redhead walked in the door. "I thought you'd died or something, I haven't seen you in hours! I've got some great plays I want to go over, but I need you to come look at these charts. I haven't had a chance to triple-check them yet, but they're going to be brilliant! I want your opinion straight away, though in the end I suppose it doesn't matter—"

          "I'm sure they'll be fine, Oliver," Ron grumbled, oddly calmed by the other man's ramblings. A witch with long black hair tied back in a ponytail that was exiting the women's section of the locker room smiled at him sadly. "He's been going on like this ever since we all got here," she informed him. "I think it's going to be one of those days."

It took a minute for Ron to place the woman. She was the newest member of the team, a 24 year-old Chaser they'd just acquired from the Harpies that had missed their recent tour. "You've pinned Oliver already, Meredith," he said as soon as her name came to him.

She laughed; she had a very nice laugh. It was loud and deep-throated, as if she didn't give a damn who heard. Hermione's laugh was more reserved, as if whatever she was amused with was a secret only between she and whoever had made her laugh. The fact that he knew this did not seem odd to Ron in the least.

          "So, do you always hang around here?" Meredith continued. "I thought it was the captain who dealt with us pawns."

Ron brightened at the mention of something dealing with chess. "That's the way it's usually done. Managers are generally in charge of the boring stuff in quidditch, you know, the grunt work, but I've been a Cannons fanatic since I was a kid. Some teams don't even have them, but when the old manger left he asked me to replace him and keep the position going."

          "Why's that?" Meredith asked boldly.

          "He needed somebody who cared enough to get stuff done. The captain generally only knows his team, so somebody has to be around to keep thing running. Besides, I'm an okay strategist."

          "Are you now? I was thinking they kept you around for your good looks." Her words made the tips of Ron's ear brighten, but this went unnoticed thanks to Oliver Wood.

          "Oi! I don't care if Weasley _is _the bloody boss around here, Brown! Go out to the pitch and start warming up or else you'll fly laps until your broom gives!"

          "Oliver, practice hasn't started yet!" Meredith complained.

Ron hid a grin. "Trust me, logic holds no ground with him. You'd best be off." 

"Aha! You _are_ allied with him!" 

          "I never denied it," Ron said. The pair smiled at each other.

***

There was no way in hell Ron was going back to Hermione's. This had been decided the second quidditch practice had ended. No, he had had confrontation enough that day and wanted nothing more to do with women. Instead he decided to go visit Harry and catch up a bit, something that he had been meaning to get around to anyway. 

When he reached Harry's flat Ron touched his wand to the door, an action that was supposed to signal to Harry that it was safe to let in whoever was at the other end of the wand. Since Ron saw light coming in from under the door, he expected Harry to answer the door any moment and receive him with warm welcomes and a bottle of ale.

A moment or five passed, though, and still there was no sign of Harry. A bit alarmed, Ron tapped his wand to the door about a dozen more times. Yes, he realized he was being a bit redundant, but one couldn't be too careful.

Finally footsteps could be heard on the other side of the door, and Ron heaved a sigh of relief as the knob began to turn. When Harry opened the door he gave his guest a look of intense displeasure, which caused Ron to inspect the disgruntled man more thoroughly. Harry's hair was rumpled and even more out of order than usual, and his clothes weren't looking that neat either. The agitation he was feeling was evident in not only his physical appearance but in his magical aura as well. When a wizard like Harry was annoyed it wasn't difficult to feel that annoyance when standing close at hand.

          "I was sleeping," Harry said.

          "So I see." 

          "You woke me up."

          "Yup."

          "Ron, I had a very long day at work. A third-year blew up one of your brother's latest inventions—a Rotting Rocket, is it called?— in my classroom and I spent the rest of the day trying not to lose my breakfast."

Ron would have laughed had he not been worried Harry would lose his breakfast on _him_. He took a step back. "So you want me to come back later?"

Harry nodded grimly. "That would be nice."

Seconds later Ron was standing alone in the corridor, wishing he had chosen a backup plan for the evening. It looked like he was going back to Hermione's, but to actually get inside her house he'd better have a damn good apology ready.

***

When Hermione Granger opened her front door that night she knew it would be Ron. "I suppose you're here to apologize?" she asked.

Ron nodded. "I'm sorry," he added.

          "Why are you sorry?" she questioned, more than interested to hear his response.

          "For everything," he said tonelessly.

          "Would you care to elaborate, Ronald." The redhead winced, she only called him Ronald when she was really angry, a trait that was also shared by his mother.

          "I'm sorry for being a prat this morning, I know what I said was wrong. I'm sorry about getting us in this mess with Dylan. I'm sorry for getting drunk last night and for sleeping with you and not remembering—"

Hermione threw up her hands at Ron's mention of the past night's activities. "Alright, Ron, you're forgiven. No need to tell all of Britain about…well, you know." 

          "I missed you," Ron told her as he was escorted into the front hall. 

Looking at her watch, Hermione made an odd face. "It's only been a few hours."

          "No, I mean when I was away. I don't regret taking a British quidditch team on a world-wide tour, but I do regret not writing to you while I was doing so."

Oddly touched, Hermione's expression softened. She had never heard Ron say anything so sweet before and she was a bit taken-aback. The Ronald Weasley she knew would go to the ends of the earth to avoid talking about emotions, but the one standing in front of her had just expressed genuine regret. She was about to respond accordingly when Ron walked into her kitchen, calling, "What's for dinner?" over his shoulder. She rushed after him, good-humor lost. 

          "Ron, we have to talk about Dylan!" 

          "That bloke?"

          "That bloke is my boyfriend!" Hermione huffed. "And you have no right to talk about him whatsoever."

Ignoring her, Ron went back to investigating the kitchen. "Don't you cook?" he asked.

          "Stop changing the subject! And no, I don't."

          "Pity. Now what were you saying?"

          "Ron, you told Dylan you were _married_. I don't know if you've noticed this, but you've gained a tad bit of fame over the last ten years and it may be somewhat noticeable if your supposed wife never makes an appearance!"

Giving up on his food scourge, Ron sat down on a nearby chair. "Why?"

          "Because you're a celebrity! It's one thing to elope and alert the world later on to a spouse's presence, but it's another thing entirely to be married to somebody who doesn't exist." 

          "Technically I am married to a person who exists, she just doesn't want to be married to _me_," Ron shot back.

          "Oh," scoffed Hermione, "and you want to be married to me?" 

A silence invaded the kitchen that was very long and very awkward. "You girls and your silly trick questions," Ron finally mumbled. "Nothing changes."

          "Fine, I give up!" Hermione said. "Shut up and hand me some eggs, we'll have omelets."

___________________________________________________________________

Being as I have no idea where this is going, why don't you lovely readers leave me your comments and suggestions? If I use one that you leave, perhaps we can work out some kind of reward. Just don't think it's going to be cash, 'cause trust me, it won't be.

Fleur


	6. Dreams That Disturb

**I Thee Wed**

**Chapter 6**

**Dreams That Disturb**

**Author's Note:** You are all free to be vastly impressed at such a timely update from yours truly. If you're not…well, I'm not Queen of the World yet so I suppose there's nothing I can do about it.

Thank you so much to everybody who left suggestions in their reviews! You all served as my muses and helped to bring this chapter out so quickly. Those of you who suggested bringing in the media in this chapter as opposed to later on when I was planning on doing so are geniuses. I like this thing better your way than my own, dear readers. So…if it sucks it's your fault. Either way, I'll still be working on the incentive I promised at the end of chapter five.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own most of the characters in this story. A few of them _are_ mine however, and if you want to borrow them feel free to send me an email. I doubt you do, though. If you'd like to host this story on your web page the drill is the same.

He felt that his whole life was some kind of dream and he sometimes wondered whose it was and whether they were enjoying it.

**-Douglas Adams, "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy"**

A week into Ron's new living arrangements had left the man more than a wee bit exhausted. As a boy he had been able to sleep for twelve, thirteen hours straight, but ever since he'd returned to England he hadn't managed more than five. Long days at the pitch and nights spent avoiding the subject of marriage left him longing for rest, but to no avail. The sleep he did manage to catch was filled with dreams, mostly about quidditch (Oliver was always the antagonist), but sometimes about Harry, Hermione, and the other Weasleys. They were all harmless, of course, and he rarely remembered them the next morning. At least, that was the case in the beginning.

"Creevey!" A loud, booming voice filled the small building that housed _The Magic Post_. The building was home to a brand new newspaper that was increasing in popularity slowly but surely. The Editor and Chief, one Louis Coleridge, had once worked for _The Daily Prophet_, but had been fired when the Ministry objected to his less-than-censored reports on the rise of Lord Voldemort. Only recently had the man been able to pull together enough funds to start a paper of his own, for he had vowed the day _The Prophet_ had kicked him out on his bottom that he would never work for anyone but himself from there on out.

A thin, shorter-than-average man burst into the room. Colin Creevey had matured quite a bit throughout the years (he'd even caught the eyes of some of the girl's in the office!), but he was as eager-to-please as ever, especially when it came to writing a halfway-decent article.

          "You needed me, sir?" Colin bounced up and down a bit as he waited for a response.

          "Stop moving, Creevey, you're making me dizzy," said Lou. Colin stopped. "I've been hearing some interesting gossip."

          "Gossip, sir? Do you want me to write a gossip column? I'm not really the man for the job, but maybe if you need some photos—"

Lou sighed and put his head in his hands. "Creevey!"

          "Sir?"

          "Don't move. Don't talk. Just stand there and listen. I'm about to tell you something I don't want repeated, so shut the door."

          "I thought you wanted me to stand here and do nothing," Colin said meekly. When Lou glowered at him he rushed to do as told.

          "There was a bit of a spectacle earlier this week at Diagon Alley. Ronald Weasley, Hermione Granger, and an unidentified male of about the same age were seen in the street. Nobody knows exactly what they were talking about, but apparently Granger rushed them into a nearby shop."

          "Maybe they just wanted privacy?" Colin queried.

Lou nodded. "That could be it. Or it could be something else. I'm sensing a story."

Colin ignored Lou's casual mention of Ron and Hermione as "kids." The older man had fought for Dumbledore but had never much liked the idea of Harry and his friends being such a part of what went on. While he respected the trio for defeating Voldemort, he was not enamored with their legacy like some were nor did he see them as the living deities most of the world made them out to be. Lou didn't hate Harry, Ron, or Hermione, but if any of them had skeletons in their closets, he wouldn't be afraid to expose them. News was news, after all, and his paper needed something big to truly be respectable.

          "Sir, I can't be impartial to this. I knew all of them back in Hogwarts…we fought V-Voldemort together. We're friends, of a sort."

Lou sat down in his chair heavily. "I know, Creevy, and that's why I'm asking you to do this. The paper's doing well, but it's not picking up as many readers as our financial backers originally hoped. We need an exclusive, Creevy, if any of us want to have jobs six months from now. You know these people, use that to your advantage."

Colin left the small office filled with both guilt and excitement. If he uncovered one of his friends' secrets he'd never be welcomed in their good graces again. That also went for the other million or so Weasleys, as well as the group's many friends. Still, if he did find something his career would skyrocket. He wouldn't have to do freelance photography anymore, he could earn enough writing to provide for his photographical pursuits in any way he saw fit. He could move into a flat with more than one room. He could afford a girlfriend, even. Torn, Colin packed up for the night.

In Ron's dream it was summer. Though it had been spring when he had fallen asleep, the differences between the two seasons were everywhere. It also helped that he was at Hogwarts. Ron had spent so much of his youth roaming the school he knew it both inwards and outwards.

He was by the lake. The sun was warm on his face. He had taken off his robe and rolled back the sleeves of his collared white shirt. His feet were in the lake, reveling in the coolness that surrounded them. Peace and tranquility reigned. If Ron were awake and able to analyze the situation he would now have been positive this was a dream if only because of the calmness. Hogwarts had never been calm back in his day.

          "Ron? What are you doing out here all by yourself?" Ron turned to face Hermione. She was carrying a book but she didn't look like she had as a student. She looked like she was a 28-year-old, highly successful Healer. The only difference was a softness around her that never seemed to be there in real life. She wore a light pink skirt and white cotton blouse. She looked beautiful.

          "Hermione? Why aren't you in Ancient Runes?"

          "What are you talking about, Ron? We're not in Hogwarts anymore," said Hermione.

Ron kicked at the water. "'Course we are! Why else would be at Hogwarts? Any minute now Harry's going to come and we're going to go play Quidditch."

Hermione frowned. "Why do you insist on living in the past, Ron?"

          "What are you talking about, Hermione? I was talking about the very-near future. Maybe Harry will let me use the Firebolt…" Sighing, Hermione took a seat next to Ron. She leaned over and picked up his hand, surprising the boy to no end. "Are you sick?

          "Why don't you see me, Ron?"

Ron swept his gaze across Hermione. Medium height, medium weight, brown eyes, curly hair with a bit of frizz lurking here and there…all in all, he could see her quite well. "What are you talking about? I see you just fine!"

          "You don't see me." Hermione stared out at the lake.

          "Hermione, are you nutters? You're not invisible or anything, I see you just fine!"

          "You don't see me, Ron."

Infuriated, Ron let his voice rise to a shout. "I do! I do see you! I see you, I see you—"

          "Ron!" A scream pierced Ron's slumber, causing him to shoot into an upright position. His eyes blinked rapidly as they attempted to adjust to the darkness that was interrupted only by the moonlight that snuck in through the blinds. It illuminated an anxious looking Hermione. When his mind was able to focus on her, he reached up and grabbed her hand like she had done earlier in his dream.

          "I see you, Hermione! I do, I do see you!"

Hermione held on to Ron's hand and squeezed. "Shh, it's alright, dear. I can see you, too." A moment passed where both were silent. Ron used the time to regain his composure, concentrating on getting his breathing back to a normal level. When he looked back up at Hermione she was still looking at him with concern. He noticed that though she'd managed to haphazardly throw on her robe, her feet remained bare on the wood floor.

          "It was just a dream?" he asked.

          "Yes. I heard you screaming and I ran in to check on you. Are you alright?"

Nodding, Ron let go of Hermione's hand and used it to rub at his eyes. "It was so weird…" He trailed off.

          "I still have nightmares, too," Hermione told him.

          "About what?" Ron asked, ignoring the fact that his dream hadn't exactly been a nightmare and he was taking advantage of Hermione's comforting. Not that he cared.

Hermione took a seat on the side of Ron's bed. "You know, about the war. I dream that my parents didn't make it. I dream that you and Harry leave me alone." Her face took on a pained expression.

          "I wouldn't leave you alone." The words shocked Ron the moment they left his mouth. They sounded so solemn, yet he meant them like he'd never meant anything before. Apparently Hermione was just as shocked because her face took on an odd expression he had never seen before.

          "I thought—well, you were gone on the tour so long, and I never heard from you anymore, I-I sometimes thought you would."

Ron looked Hermione directly in the eyes before he spoke again. "I promise I won't leave you alone."

In the light of day this conversation would have been awkward and out of place. With the sun comes a person's ability to rationalize, to accept the way their world works. The moon had intoxicated them, though, allowing Ron and Hermione to converse freely with no boundaries. These talks always come to an end though, and a moment later Hermione regained her absent sense of propriety. Ron seemed to be heading down the same path for he did not protest when she stood up again. In an almost embarrassed voice Hermione told Ron goodnight and exited the guest room.

Ron didn't fall asleep again until the sun kissed the horizon.

          "Professor Potter?" A matronly voice invaded Harry's quiet office. He looked up from the paper he was grading to see Headmistress McGonagall staring at him fondly.

          "Yes, Minerva?" Harry fought and succeeded to use the woman's first name. Though he had worked at Hogwarts for about five years he still found himself slipping into his old schoolboy ways now and then.

She shook her head as if to clear it of distracting thoughts. "It's come to my attention that Mr. Weasley is home from his trip around the world."

          "He is indeed," Harry told her. "Have you caught him at some sort of trouble?" he smirked.

McGonagall scowled at him. "For your information, Potter, I do not care what sort of trouble my _former_ students manage to get themselves into once they leave my school." Harry highly doubted that, but let the subject drop anyway. "I was simply wondering if he and Miss Granger would like to join us here at the castle this Saturday for a meal."

A thought occurred to Harry. "Have you missed him, then?"

Bristling, McGonagall fixed Harry with The Look. "I have done nothing of the sort!" A few seconds passed leaving both Harry and McGonagall laughing. "You won't tell him, will you?"

          "Wizard's honor," he replied smiling.


End file.
